


To Know a World Without You

by dandilionsong



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Albus Dumbledore Bashing, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Asexual Character, Asexual Charlie Weasley, Bisexual Character, Bisexual Percy Weasley, Coming Out, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Relationships, Gay Character, Grief/Mourning, Multi, No Incest, Self-Doubt, Sibling Love, Suicide Attempt, Time Travel, Weasley twins being chaotic, age difference because time travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-16 19:07:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28586934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dandilionsong/pseuds/dandilionsong
Summary: After Fred died George came to the conclusion that a world without Fred is not a world worth witnessing, so he decides to take his own life.Only he opens his eyes, and suddenly he's 13 again with Fred by his side and his brother Ron is about to start his first year of Hogwarts.(Also Major Character Death is for obvious reasons)**INSPIRED BY THIS FIC -> (https://archiveofourown.org/works/17739194) 'Severus and Snape'**
Relationships: Angelina Johnson/George Weasley, Lee Jordan/Fred Weasley
Comments: 14
Kudos: 44





	1. A Grave Decision

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Severus and Snape](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17739194) by [knight_bus_of_doom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/knight_bus_of_doom/pseuds/knight_bus_of_doom). 

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George decides a life without Fred isn't a life worth living.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok here we go. It's angst central this chapter but it gets better so power through it ok? I believe in you Xx
> 
> **TW for grief and attempted suicide***

He carelessly fell backwards onto his bed and revelled in the buzz of the oxygen leaving his lungs as the impact winded him.

It had been two weeks. The first two weeks two weeks of his whole life in which Fred wasn’t by his side. The thought came to him quickly like a dagger to his chest, piercing his resolve. It was these little thoughts that hurt him the most. Every day his brain brought a new realisation on his new state of life, a state of such harrowing sorrow and a grief so heavy that he couldn’t bear to do anything besides lie with the weight of fate’s bitter unfairness crushing him, and willing himself not to think.

Because it was thinking that hurt him the most. Any and every thought he had would trail back to Fred like mosquitos to a lamp. It was exhausting. And it was debilitating. And perhaps the worst part was that there was nothing to be done about it. There was no formula he could think up and spend hours perfecting so that this agony could end. Merlin, even Merlin could tell you that. There is _no_ cure for the dead.

When it first happened, George had been a wreck. He sobbed openly, kneeling at his brother’s head, _Fred’s_ head, and he had openly sobbed for everyone in the great hall to see. The world didn’t matter in that moment. They were fighting a war and George wouldn’t have known. It was like every single unsaid “I love you” and every drop of anger at the world for doing this to him, and every single shred of guilt for not being there when it happened came forward all at once, overtaking his body in a tsunami of emotions until he was pulled away into battle once more, only, as much as he tried, he couldn’t remember one bit of it. It was just blurs of lights and colours, thoughts of _Fred, Fred, Fred,_ that consumed his entire being.

Somewhere deep down, probably the same place his sanity had run off to, he’d almost expected that to be it. He’d cried, he’d let the emotions out in one rather ugly display of tears, and that was that. Time for new emotions, another day. He woke up at the Burrow sometime later and he saw from the lack of light in the window that it was the middle of the night.

‘Strange’ George thought. He didn’t often wake up in the middle of the night. It was strangely quiet as well. Where was Fred’s snoring? The git was so loud that it was pretty hard to miss it.

Looking over to the empty bed across the room he stilled once again like he had the day before, and then it happened again. Every emotion he had ever felt came to the surface of his mind, and it was just Fred. Every thought, memory, and opinion, he’d ever had regarding Fred circled around his soul like a plague. Ripping at his lungs and slashing at his heart so violently that everything crumbled and nothing else could or ever would matter again.

Eventually it passed, like it had the day of the battle. But instead of making way for new emotions like he had thought, or maybe he’d hoped, his grief instead gave way to numbness, and that numbness, into defeat.

His family had made an effort to be there for him. To be around him even if it wasn’t for company. They’d bring meals to his room on the days he couldn’t move much and make sure he ate while they sat in silence. Or someone would drag him downstairs to sit on the couch while people came and went through the living room. He’d sit and watch it like a movie, as they sat around and talked about whatever thing they cared about more than Fred.

Sometimes George even tried to focus on them and their conversations, because a lot of it sounded important, but his mind could trail a path to Fred from anything imaginable. George would spend every second of every day trying to outrun his grief, even for just a second, but from big things like someone slipping up and using the wrong name to address him, to small things like someone holding a turnip, his mind would use it to find a way to bring itself back towards something to do with Fred.

It was just Fred _. Fred, Fred, Fred, Fred._ Every single second, of every single day. In daylight and in dreams. And it _hurt_. It hurt so badly that every day he woke up and he was another day away from Fred’s living memory. The pain was so unbearable, and it just didn’t _stop._ It just kept going and going, without ever getting the slightest bit better. It was so excruciating that it devoured his entire being so much that eventually he couldn’t think right, or breathe right, or even stand to be alive.

Maybe he was being unfair. Maybe he was being stupid. But this wasn’t about just him. This was about Fred.

Every day came with another new agonising thought about all the things they should’ve said that they never said. All the things they should’ve done that they never did.

Fred will never find that answer to the crossword puzzle he was working on when they were called to the battle.

Fred will never pull another prank.

Fred will never fall in love.

Fred will never hold his child in his arms.

Fred will never grow old and die peacefully.

So why should George do the same?

They’ve always done everything together and the same, while at each other’s sides. It would upset balance if George did all these things that Fred never would, and by himself no less. The only thing left to do was to balance things out again. You couldn’t have just one twin. It was together and the same, or none at all.

George might have been crying as he reached for his wand at his bedside table. He might have been sobbing as he put his wand to his throat, but he wouldn’t have known. It seemed his body was aware of its decided fate, but the only thing that mattered to him then was Fred. Only Fred. A non-verbal spell of some kind came to the forefront of his mind, and he felt the magic course out of his hand and into his wand.

In those few milliseconds when the spell was bolting through his wand towards his flesh, time seemed to stop. His first thought was. Oh. I’m going to die. He was scared he realised. He was downright terrified.

All those things he had said about Fred were what was going to become of him. Once upon a time, he had fantasised about his future. Meeting a pretty girl, who’d laugh at his jokes. Falling in love and growing old together. But that didn’t matter now. He had spent the whole war avoiding death as much as possible only to give up when it was finally over. A bit pathetic, wasn’t he?

He thought of his family. Who would find him? Would it be Mum? or Dad? Maybe Charlie or Bill coming to force him dinner? Or Percy or Ron? They’d already seen one half die. What if they had to see it again? What if it was Ginny? God, he hoped it wasn’t going to be Ginny.

At the very end of it all though, there was one thought that remained. Fred was waiting for him. Somewhere on the other side Fred was there, and George couldn’t help but feel a sudden rush of excitement at the thought.

It was ok, he realised. If Fred was there with him then it would be alright. The family would all move on eventually and grow to understand why George couldn’t. They’re all so strong, and he loved them for it. And even though he was sad to leave them, it would all soon be ok. Yes, everything would be ok.

George lay back on his bed and felt the oxygen leaving his lungs. He closed his eyes, and as the spell made contact with his flesh, he let his grief give way to numbness once and for all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Or so he thought....
> 
> Kudos or a review is always nice Xx


	2. Begin Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George is given a second chance to live the life he's already lived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, back at it again... 
> 
> You'll find that this chapter has a lot of parallels to the first chapter of the fic by knight_bus_of_doom that inspired this story, partly because the whole Magic/Snape interaction had me sold the second I read it, and has stuck with me ever since. So yeah, hope I do the concept justice.
> 
> No TW for this chapter, just some existential bullshit with a little fluff sprinkled on the side. Enjoy!!

The next thing he felt was a sort of weightlessness, and for a second, his mind was completely at peace. He felt a surface forming beneath him and he tried to steady himself against it, as his surroundings began to form, shapes and colours pooling outwards and around from a single point in front of him. Squinting slightly at the brightness of it all, his eyes adjusted to see he was sitting in the Orchid behind the Burrow.

He and Fred would come to this spot when they were younger, and hide in the hollow of their favourite tree during family Quidditch games, purely for the sake of being bothersome. The first Christmas after they had moved out they were visiting the Burrow, and were taking a break from a game and discovered the Old tree had finally kicked it and fallen down, as trees do. It was almost heartbreaking though. It was while hiding in that tree that they’d first had the idea of opening a joke shop, all those years ago. How old had they been? Nine? Ten? Some of their best ideas came from that hollow, fantasising about the life they were supposed to have lived.

But, clear as day, there was their tree in all its glory, and sitting against it, Fred.

Fred.

He looked sublime. In the sort of way that a Patronus encapsulated the attention of everyone in the room. George was in awe of him, and his elation couldn’t be matched by the smile on his face. He wanted to run to him. Hug him and laugh and cry and revel in being reunited because even though it hadn’t been _that_ long, God had George _missed_ him.

While George moved towards his brother desperately, Fred stood up and propped his hands in his pockets.

“George.”

He sounded…. solemn. George was slightly confused at that. Shouldn’t Fred he happy to see him? He stopped a couple metres in front of him, and furrowed his eyebrows a little, although his smile remained.

“It would seem that you’re dead.” Fred said.

“Well… apparently…” George started. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting but this sure wasn’t it.

“I had prepared for this moment, although I had hoped it would occur under different circumstances…”

“Oh…” George said. “I’m sorry if it’s… sooner than you might have liked but-“

“Oh, no, that’s not it” Fred said with a smile. His voice was warm and smooth like honey, in a way that it almost didn’t sound real. Like it was just too perfect.

“You see time is a bit different for me than it is for you” He continued. “Forever only takes as long as counting to one.”

“Fred-“

“I’m not Fred.”

George stopped and looked sharply at Fred, not-Fred, and studied his face. As far as he could tell, that was his twin, and he knew his twin. Now panicking slightly, he looked around his surroundings, as if hoping Fred would pop out from somewhere with a dramatic puff of smoke and a punchline. That would be the Fred he knew.

No such Fred appeared however, and the fake Fred kept talking.

“You see these circumstances of yours are so strange. You- as humans, are taught to put your trust in fate. That when it is your time, you will go, and that’s all there is to it. But not you George.”

“I don’t understand” George replied. Was he not dead? Had he lost his opportunity, his _fate,_ to be with Fred forever? 

“You’re thinking about this all-wrong George.” Not-Fred continued. It’s not that you’ve missed your ‘opportunity to die’ as you referred to it. No. It's rather that your fate, your time, was not now.”

“So, I’m right.” George said. “I’m not dead.”

“Oh you’re very much dead.” He said “But you were not fated to die this way. You took fate into your own hands and spat on it. Shattering its plan to pieces.”

“Oh… erm- sorry I guess?”

The not-Fred laughed at that. It sounded exactly like Fred’s laugh and while George would have been ecstatic to hear it earlier, knowing it was some sort of phoney unsettled him.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“I’m Magic.”

“I know you’re magic but this is-“ He was cut off when not-Fred laughed again.

“No, I am Magic. As a thing, a force. You witnessing me like this is viewing me in my most potent form. An incredibly small number of people have ever interacted with me like this. ”

“Then why are you Fred?” George was so desperate to see his brother, the _real_ Fred. It was all that mattered to him, and as interesting as all this was, it wasn't what he came for.

“I’m not really him, obviously.” Magic said. “I have all his thoughts and memories, as I have yours, and as i have everyone elses, but what you are seeing is just a projection of him that I’ve used to connect with your soul to speak to you this way. Fred and yourself have had your magic intertwined since before you were born, as I'm sure you know already.”

George did know that already. Family members always share a magical connection, but twins? Twins were on another level. 'Better,' as he and Fred often referred to it. George knew how it worked. Identical Twins. One zygote split in two. Two halves of a whole. That was him and Fred.

“I’m here now, because you have a choice to make George.”

“Oh, um… Fred didn’t choose hell, did he?” If George died to be with Fred, only to have no choice but to follow him downstairs, Fred better be prepared to die twice.

“Oh, no George, that’s not the choice of which I’m referring to." Magic chuckled."You see, I’m here to offer you a second chance.”

“A second chance? As in to live??” George didn’t want that. He’d already made his choice, and that was to be with Fred.

“I can understand your hesitance.” Magic said. “But you have to understand, this was not your fate.”

His fate? What about his choice? It was _his_ choice to die. He almost felt proud of himself for not giving in to what fate wanted. It made him feel powerful to know he had defied something as powerful as fate so easily. Besides, Fred has no choice except to die and George has no choice except to live? What kind of ridiculous logic was that?

“You misunderstand” Magic continued. George felt somewhat uneasy at how casually he was reading his thoughts. If he was going to keep him away from the real Fred at least let his thoughts be his own.

“I have been unfair to you it would seem” Magic said. “Taking your brother away from you without leaving you with enough purpose to keep your life sustained.”

“So, you’re not only going to bring me back to life, but you’ll also give me a superiority complex? Great.”

Magic chuckled, but George wasn’t having it.

“I’m not asking for this.” He said firmly. “I don't regret it. I want to be with Fred.”

“Your death may seem like the right thing for you to have done, but it causes a domino effect on the way of the world, and that can be dangerous. More dangerous than anything you could’ve fathomed while mortal.”

“You said it yourself though. There wasn’t enough in my life for me to want to keep living. So why should I?”

“I admire your wit.” Magic said, almost proudly. “This is where your second chance finds its relevance.”

George opened his mouth to protest, but the Fred- Magic- thing, put his hand up to silence him, and although it wasn’t at all an intimidating gesture, George was suddenly overcome with a wave of authority barrelling into him and leaving an almost buzz in his head that trailed down to his heart. He felt is ears go pink at the thought that he was previously on the verge of arguing with a being that was now emitting such a powerful aura. He could probably snap his fingers and George would be ripped from existence. It was then that George really saw him not as Fred, but as something far, far greater. Fred was his equal, this- Magic, was far more astonishing.

“I’m offering you, not a chance to continue living your life, but to re-live the life you’ve already lived.”

“You mean… I have to do it all again?” George then became momentarily stuck trying to imagine what it would be like to be a baby and have a fully conscious adult mind. For some reason the idea of breastfeeding became slightly terrifying.

“Not all of it…" Magic continued. "But if you were to go back with the memory of what’s to come-“

“I could save him.” George said plainly, and once the words were out of his mouth they circled around him, leaving a buzz of excitement and hope in the air that reverberated down to his bones. He could make it so that needing to die was never even an option, because he and Fred could be together while _alive._

“You can change lots of things” Magic said. “Nothing enormously drastic of course. “

“How far back would I go?” George said quickly. This was it. This was his chance. He's defied fate before, he can do it again.

At that magic smiled, because they both knew that George was sold on the idea.

Magic brought his hand to his chin and closed his eyes, letting out a low hum as if in thought. “I think that… yes that seems about right.” Magic said. “You’ll find you are back to a place in which the war will soon begin again.” At that magic looked up, and winked at him, a wink that was eerily similar to Fred’s wink in the way that he flicked his head slightly to the left and the corner of his mouth flicked upwards towards his cheek. With just that small action, George found himself missing his brother again, but before he could dwell on it, the trees were disappearing and fading back into colours and shapes, shrinking out of existence back towards the point in which the scenery had sprouted from. Suddenly he was being pulled violently from every direction and disappearing into darkness.

He was falling limply through the air, and no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t think, about anything. There was a fog on his mind that was too thick and sticky that no coherent words could form in his brain. He could feel emotion though. Raw and unfiltered. He felt happy yet sad, excited yet terrified, and tranquil yet furious. It was like every aspect of life made themselves present all at once, and he was reacting to them all at once in a textured emotion that he didn't think the human brain was capable of conjuring. There were bright colours and shapes flying around his vision as though they were ripples in the ocean. Every time he tried to focus on one it would move away and blend into another, and it was disorienting and terrifying and beautiful and-

He opened his eyes.

As his body caught up to his brain, he could feel that he was sweating violently, and shivering because of it. He was in a bed he realised. His bed. A couple minutes ago he had died on this bed, and yet he was, with his heart beating loudly in his ears, getting used to being alive again.

Alive…

He shot up. His blanket was already lopsided, but it fell to the floor. Darting his eyes towards the bed across the room he saw a familiar lump, and upon doing so let out a sound of such pure relief that he hadn’t realised had been building inside of him. He could barely breathe he was so elated.

For a second he caught his reflection's eye in the mirror on the wardrobe door next to Fred’s bed. He had torn that mirror down and shattered it against the wall a couple days after… _it_ had happened. He knew Fred’s face well enough to not see him every time he looked in a mirror, but a sideways glance was enough to become hopeful, and then as a result, crushed, and defeated. 

Now though, it wasn’t the face he remembered. He looked completely infantile. How old was he now? Twelve? Thirteen? It didn’t matter. Fred was _here_.

He hurdled out of his bed so quickly that he tripped over his discarded blanket and stumbled gracelessly over to Fred’s bed, landing on his knees before it, and swiftly placing his forearms against the edge of the mattress to prevent himself from flying further forwards. The lump in question stirred, and George inhaled everything about him and how _alive_ he was. The way his face was flushed with sleep instead of white like snow, how his hair stuck up in every angle instead of being matted and dusty, how his nostrils flared ever so slightly when he breathed out because he could _breathe_ , and how his pyjama shirt was twisted around his body in a way that could only mean movement – _life_.

“Georgie…?” 

George opened his mouth to say something, but no words formed. What could he possibly say? _Hey Fred, guess what! I actually just travelled back in time because we all fought in a war that you died in!_ – not ideal.

He just...couldn’t think. There were too many things all at once to think about. He couldn’t say anything either because there were too many things he wanted to say. How do you express to someone how much they mean to you? Three silly words like ‘I Love You' just isn’t enough. For some people there are no words, and for George, that person was Fred.

He felt his throat close up at the thought. That even though he was certain Fred knew how much he meant to George when he died, he had never heard it from George directly, and this Fred would probably never hear it either, because there weren’t any words powerful enough to tell him properly.

“George? Are you ok? “

Fred sounded panicked, and it made George's vision blur, so he squeezed his eyes shut. It was Fred wasn't it?

“Hey, what’s wro-“

Fred was cut off when George pounced on him. He let out a sound of surprise and his head fell back down into his pillow as George hugged him tight. Fred slowly returned the gesture by putting his arms around his brother in a combination confusion and worry, and George lay his head against Fred’s chest as he positioned himself next to him on the small bed.

Hearing the slow pounding of his brother's steady heartbeat was all that George needed for his eyes to leak freely, and he buried his face into Fred's pyjama shirt and held him tighter, breathing in the fact that he was here, and he was safe, because in that moment, nothing else mattered more than that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter should be up soon enough. XX
> 
> A review or kudos would be glorious...
> 
> Thanks for reading!!


	3. New Old Surroundings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George tries to come to terms with his new life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back at it, this one is long.... 4000 words? Who even am I?
> 
> **TW for general self doubt and also dark thoughts**

At breakfast, George glanced up from his eggs to eye his mother, scanning her body for any signs of suspicion. When their mum had come barging into their room declaring breakfast, George had sensed from his position against Fred’s side that Fred had sent her a panic look. She might’ve said something, yet their fathers voice hollered for her from up the stairs, and she left with a promise to return in a moment, clearly concerned.

As she cast a spell upon the sponge and dishwater to clean a frying pan, she began humming a tune sounding eerily similar to a Celestina Warbeck song. He declared himself safe, for there was no way she would allow herself to drive George away with her… _questionable_ singing abilities should she be wary of him.

George looked back down at his breakfast and traced his fork over the deep and intricate pattens of the toast on his plate, deciding it was a better course of action as opposed to facing the intensity of Fred’s gaze, currently penetrating the side of his head.

George couldn’t blame him he supposed, as he wouldn’t fail to admit that he had fled the scene of his outburst rather quickly after their mother’s departure.

Growing up in a house as chaotic as theirs, they had learnt early on that if you didn’t make it to the table in time, then there wouldn’t be much left that made it worth attending the table at all- especially once Ron turned up, the kid could eat. Using this shared knowledge to his advantage, George had left their room as quickly as possible, moving swiftly down the stairs to buy himself some time to come up with an excuse to explain away Fred’s worry.

He was grateful that he at least had all of breakfast to wrap his head around what to say. There was no way Fred would bring it up in front of everybody. They had to uphold their reputation as carefree and untroubled mischief-makers after all.

Although it was hard to focus on his potential excuses when there were so many superior thoughts buzzing around loudly behind his temples, asserting themselves over every other train of thought.

_What if this is a trick?_

_Maybe it’s a dream?_

_How old am I again?_

_Fred’s **alive**._

_The second war hasn’t happened yet._

_Nobody knows a second war is even coming._

The stark realisation that he had to potential to stop an entire _war_ made the air weigh heavy in his lungs, he breathed out deeply and slowly, and fought to keep his face neutral, keeping his eyes firmly on his plate.

All those deaths. All those lives ruined. All those dreams put on hold. None of it was true yet. He could save all of it.

He wanted to scream. Loud. At the top of his lungs. Tell them all everything. As far as they knew, it was just another normal day. But it wasn’t. There was so much that had happened and yet it never did. Not here. He needed to warn people. He needed to get up, and go straight to Kingsley, he was the one in charge now wasn’t he? _No._ Oh Merlin _Dumbledore._ Dumbledore! He needed to get up, and run straight to Dumbledore-

“George.”

Hearing Fred whisper in his ear had him snapping his head up like a deer in the headlights. As casually as he could, he tilted his head around to Fred’s direction, taking a second to come to terms with his brother’s younger face. Fred gave him a questioning look, as if to ask if he was ok, and George nodded once, stiff and quick.

He could tell Fred didn’t believe him, not for a second, but George payed it no notice, going back to playing with his eggs and toast. Refusing to meet Fred’s eyes as he kept glaring at George quizzically, and without any subtlety, even in Georges peripheral vision. He didn’t have time for this. He needed to _think_.

“What’re you two up to now?” Came an exasperated voice from across the table. Staring suspiciously at the pair was Percy, or by the looks of his younger face, what used to be Percy. Or was it just Percy, because technically future Percy doesn’t exist yet. This was way too confusing.

“Nothing” Both twins said, only Fred said it hastily and anxiously, and George said it tired and wearily.

Percy raised his eyebrows at this. Fred was smart enough to not raise Percy’s suspicion through being apprehensive, and George was cheeky enough to not sound so defeated, and Percy knew them well enough to know that.

Looking between the two with furrowed brows, he opened his mouth to say something when the kitchen door flung open and their father emerged into the kitchen.

“Morning Weasleys!” he called out, receiving a flurry of replies, including a half-hearted mumble from George, his mind still elsewhere as he observed Percy. This younger Percy was less of a shock to him than the younger Fred, almost more familiar to him than the older Percy from before.

He supposed it made sense. George barely knew his previous Percy, having not seen him for nearly three years prior to the battle, and in the time between Fred’s death and… his own death, (not-death?), Percy had been either solemn and withdrawn, becoming immensely interested in picking at his fingernails whenever he was around anyone in their family, or trying desperately to rekindle his relationships with them all, to the point of obvious efforts to help or be included whenever possible.

“Daddy!” Cried a child’s voice, snapping George out of his thoughts. What looked like the world’s most adorable red-headed goblin, ran towards their dad and engulfed him in the biggest bear hug her small arms could manage.

While seeing Percy had been a shock, seeing Ginny warranted complete electrocution, and the sight of her so young…it knocked the wind out of his lungs. Ginny was his baby sister, and in the past couple years she had been exposed to such harrowing and distressing things that no one her age, or any age, should ever have to experience.

Witnessing his sister so carefree and innocent again, as she giggled in her father’s arms, her eyes sparkling with the childhood ignorance that George had lost a long time ago- it reminded him again of his daunting potential to prevent what would take that sparkle in her eyes away from her.

This train of thought was really killing his appetite.

“Are we going to Diagon Alley today?” Switching his attention to the other, just as adorable and frankly infantile red headed midget that was Ron, the weight on his shoulders doubled. Ron was a war hero at seventeen.

When George was seventeen, he had been following his dreams, breaking hearts and getting his heart broken, going to whatever party was being thrown that weekend by all his fellow ex-classmates enjoying their freedom.

The world had been theirs for the taking, yet their time to be the reckless youth was cut short, and Ron’s had been completely cut out. Instead of getting into trouble by his drinking habits on a Friday night, Ron was getting into trouble by duelling dark wizards on a regular basis.

It wasn’t fair. George knew that already. Of course he did. It’s the kind of realisation you have when there’s nowhere else to go. It’s the realisation that scoops the first fistful of the cold, wet dirt that will eventually hollow out to become the rabbit hole of sorrow.

George imagined himself burrowing deeper inside the hole, because the world doesn’t care if something is fair or not does it? The world doesn’t care if there’s no direction to go but down. The thing is though, the more he digs, the softer the dirt gets, and the easier it becomes to keep digging.

The further he goes, the darker it gets, until eventually he’ll forget that there was ever light in the first place. The outside only exists as a distant memory. Eventually, he will realise he’s forgotten warmth, because he’s always surrounded by cold.

He’ll keep digging and digging, because what else can he do. Eventually he’ll go so far that he hits rock bottom, and since he’s in too deep, and there’s no way of ever getting out of his hole now, he tries to make the most of it by making himself comfortable. The mud might be wet and cold, and he’ll suffocate because the air is dirty, and hard to breathe.

He imagined himself shrivelling away and suffocating in the hole that he made for himself, just because he couldn’t handle that life wasn’t fair.

Speaking if suffocating, all the air seemed to have disappeared from his lungs.

He had died. It was a rather sudden realisation, and for a moment his mind went to the family he had left behind. Did they still exist somewhere? Were they mourning a second son and brother? Or had they been wiped from existence entirely? All their achievements and memories gone, only existing in his memory.

He couldn’t tell which one terrified him more.

Earlier that day he had been completely comfortable with the idea of his mortality. Now though, seeing everyone alive and happy, he wasn’t so sure.

Ginny’s eyes were sparkling as she rambled on about all the potential flavours of Bertie Bots Every Flavour Beans she could get in a single packet.

Ron’s chubby cheeks puffed out as he pouted and argued how Chocolate Frogs were superior to Bertie Bots Beans because he likes to know what he’s eating.

Percy straightened his back and threw in a comment about the statistics of enjoying a Chocolate Frog being much higher than enjoying the Beans.

Fred retorted with an exaggerated story about his encounter with a bogey flavoured Bean that he ‘barely survived.’

Their Dad laughed at the story in a way that made his eyes crinkle at the corners, in a genuine way that George hadn’t witnessed in years.

Tears were burning against his eyes, and George squeezed them shut. Witnessing his family partake in such carefree and domestic bliss after such a long time of living in fear… it was overwhelming all of his senses at once, and dammit _it was still hard to breathe_.

This had to be a dream. His mind was being cruel to him, transporting him back to a time when things were simpler. When they all lived with ignorant delight about the next few years to come.

The thing is, he didn’t know if he wanted to wake up.

Placing his elbows into the table and leaning forwards, he placed the balls of his hands into his eyes and pressed into them until almost-colour bounced around in the darkness behind his eyelids.

Percy was droning on about something to do with how involving a simple food item with a collector’s item was probably just a strategic business model, since the food provided a short-term reward, and the card provides an incentive to buy, creating many long-term customers.

George clung onto every word desperately, using it to ground himself and steer his mind away from the enervation of facing his family so carefree, as his mind ran so wild that the blood throbbed endlessly in his ears.

A hand on his upper arm broke him out of his reverie, and he turned his head in the direction of Fred, who slowly blurred back into vision as a result of pressing too hard on his eyes.

“George” Fred said firmly. Concern laced his features and it made Georges heart drop. Fred should never look like that. No. Fred only deserved the world after everything he had been through. Or not been through?

“Is everything ok George?” Molly asked as she wiped her hands down on her apron. “This morning you were…” She paused. Dammit- she _was_ still fretting for him. Seriously, since when did anyone ever expect something normal to happen if they were walking into the twin’s room? If anything, walking in on George clinging to Fred for dear life is pretty tame for them.

“He’s sick” Fred said quickly. At least George could always count on him to come to the rescue.

“Wait, can we still go to Diagon Alley?” asked Ginny, shining her big brown eyes at her parents as she worked her ‘youngest child magic’ (as he and Fred often called it).

“You can still go.” George said quickly. This was good. It would be easier to get a grasp on his situation and calm himself down with less people around to add to his rolling snowball of emotions. Going to Diagon Alley sounded like the worst possible thing he could do.

“You can too Fred” George added.

“No thanks mate.” Fred replied sternly.

George had expected that. Though he supposed he could be vulnerable around Fred. He’d already done it once that morning. Not that he couldn’t be vulnerable around the rest of his family, but with Fred it just came more naturally, and with less judgement.

After some debate with their parents about leaving them home alone—

_“Are you sure Molly?”_

_“He’s been out of it all morning dad.”_

_“I’ll give you some pepper up potion before we go. If I come back to find my house blue, then you’ll be de-gnoming the garden for the rest of the summer.”_

\-- the two of them (mainly Fred) managed to convince Molly and Arthur to let the twins stay home.

As George made his way towards the stairs, Molly pulled Fred to the side and whispered something in his ear with a side glance in George’s direction. George kept walking and made a turn for the bathroom.

He locked the door and sat down on the toilet, taking deep steadying breathes to try and clear his head. Eyeing himself in the mirror, he tried again to place his age. He would’ve guessed fourteen or fifteen earlier but after seeing Ginny and Ron looking so young, he wasn’t too sure.

At least he actually did look kind of sick. His eyes were red-rimmed, and his face was pale from crying earlier, not to mention his hair was completely dishevelled.

His mind trailed back to his plan to get help. Would Dumbledore believe him? It would be bizarre for him to show up out of the blue one day to assert his divine knowledge on future events.

There could be all sorts of repercussions, the worst of which involving everyone declaring him completely insane and then locking him up. They might try test him to see if he’s a seer, only he’s not a seer, so everyone would once again declare him completely insane and then lock him up.

The more he thought about it, the less telling someone seemed like a good idea at all. He could just… gently push everyone in the right direction, as to avoid disaster. He still didn’t know what was going on in this current timeline, only that he was younger and nothing dire had happened yet.

A knock at the door had him jumping out of his skin. _Shit, how long has it been_? Everything was just passing by in a muffled haze, drowned out by the intensity of the thoughts racing around his head.

He stood, still slightly lightheaded from crying before, and made a mental note to grab a drink of water when he got the chance. Opening the door, he looked down to find a tiny Ron.

“Took you long enough.” He muttered as he pushed past George into the bathroom.

George’s eyes trailed his path, once again taking in the sight his younger brother. _He’s still shorter than us._ He thought.

Ron was starting at him weirdly, and George realised that staring at his brother in the bathroom was probably a good cue to leave, so he trudged further upwards to his and Fred’s bedroom, trying his best to act casual as he walked across the room to his bed, all while Fred’s eyes bore daggers into his skull.

“So are you going to tell me what the hell happened before?”

George sighed, eyeing the Pepper-Up potion on Fred’s bedside table. He must have convinced Mum that he’ll take it upstairs and make George drink it himself.

“Surprised you’re not in Slytherin Freddie.” George said, gesturing to the potion. “You sure know how to be sly.”

“Thanks for the ‘thanks’ George, I had to lie to Mum’s face to keep her off your back!”

“Because you would never lie to Mum’s face.”

“You’re avoiding the question.”

George was quiet for a second. This all felt like a bad dream. Maybe it was. He might as well try get things as close to the truth as possible.

“I… had a nightmare.” He said quietly. Fred almost always knew when he was lying, so he had to be careful.

“You haven’t cried over a nightmare since we were five.” Fred said with narrowed eyes. He could tell there was more to it.

“It was a bad nightmare.”

“What happened?”

George winced. Fred noticed.

“Really that bad, huh…?” His tone was softer now, laced with empathy.

George nodded, a small lump forming in his throat again as the events of the last few weeks came to the forefront of his mind. He was _talking_ to Fred. Something he never thought he would do again. He swallowed the emotions, determined not to worry Fred any more than he already had. More worrying meant more questions.

Fred’s eyes were sympathetic as he sat down at the end of Georges bed.

“What happened Georgie?” he asked again, this time softer.

Fred waited patiently for George to reply, while George darted his eyes around focusing his eyes on anywhere but Fred’s face, racking his brain for a plausible excuse as to what could be so rattling that he woke up sobbing.

“You died.” He said simply.

“Oh.”

It clearly wasn’t the answer he was expecting. Fred looked concerned for a second before cracking a grin and throwing his arm around Georges shoulder.

“Aww, c’mon Georgie. It’ll take a lot for death to capture this fine specimen! I’m not going anywhere until I’m at _least_ a-hundred-and-three.” _Wrong thing to say._

“Fred-“

“If you spend all your time moping, then you’ll be distracted from all the important stuff! You know- Pranks, Quidditch, Mum’s cooking, blowing things up…”

He looked at George expectantly, probably waiting for a smile. George attempted, but it felt wrong on his face, and judging by Fred’s sudden frown it looked wrong too.

“It was….” George looked for the right words to seem convincing, but not too revealing. “Graphic.”

Fred looked sad again.

“What happened?” He asked again. George grimaced.

“Actually, no. Don’t answer that. I’m done with all this gloom. What do you want to do today?”

George didn’t really know what to say. He was still getting his bearings in this new-old world, and he didn’t want to risk suggesting something that seemed untimely.

“Dunno.”

“Well, we’ve got the house to ourselves since the others are out getting school supplies….”

George sighed.

“I feel like my chaotic energy levels are a bit low to pull off something mischievous.” Really George just wanted some time to calm down his rattled mind.

“Oh come on! You cost me a trip to Diagon Alley!”

“Well, you see, I’m sure Mum would want me to stay in bed. Road to recovery is a treacherous one and all that. Actually, I might take a nap.”

“You’re not actually sick George.”

He retaliated by shoving Fred off his bed gracelessly and then throwing his blankets over himself and snuggling into them.

Fred stood with his hands on his hips in what looked like a terrible impression of their mother.

“George.”

George gave a melodramatic snore.

Fred huffed, and leapt onto the lump in the bed, tickling George mercilessly, and he laughed in a way he hadn’t in a long time.

____________________________

The rest of the summer passed in a blur. When the family returned from Diagon Alley with an assortment of school supplies, mainly things that had needed replacing or couldn’t be passed down to another child, not to mention an owl for Percy, George had figured out that he was in fact thirteen, as proven by the new prefect badge that adorned Percy’s robes.

It took a while to become properly settled. It almost seemed silly to think about, but it was like the harmony the twins carried themselves with had been disrupted in some way.

He found that he couldn’t read Fred as easily as he used to, since the original Fred had all the extra years of sights and experiences that this Fred didn’t, yet George still did. He never realised how much a person changes over time until he met their younger selves.

There were also a couple of times in which Fred started a sentence and George wouldn’t realise he was meant to finish it, painfully sending him back to all the times in the future-past (as he had taken to calling it), in which George would cut himself off when speaking and realise with a stab to the gut that there was nobody to finish his words.

He didn’t know if it was just him who realised the new distance between them. He also couldn’t place what exactly had caused it, which frustrated him. 

Was their age difference? Or was the fact that he was dealing with a rather drastic life event and Fred wasn’t? Especially since their lives had always been basically the same. All he knew was that every time he thought about or realised the new rift between them it made a stone sink in his stomach.

After spending some time with Fred though, he managed to recall from his subconscious memory how he and Fred had thought and functioned at their current age.

It wasn’t overly different to how they had been in the future-past, but small details like their more innocent sense of humour, which was yet to evolve, or the limitations in what they knew about certain topics, since they were only 13 and can’t perform any non-verbal or advanced magic. Or any magic really, from a legal point of view.

To his absolute elation though, they were still the Weasley twins through and through, and for the first time since the middle of the war, George was feeling good about the world.

They still pulled pranks together, and joked together, and George was glad to re-live Percy’s fifteenth birthday when they (for a second time he supposed) charmed the cake to turn everyone’s voices to animal noises when they ate it. Originally in the future-past, it had been Fred to cast the spell, taking a few attempts to get it right, but having the experience of a fully grown wizard, George did it easily, leaving Fred thoroughly impressed.

_“When in Merlins saggy pants did you learn to do that!?”_

_“I guess it’s a fluke. Quick, let’s put mum’s wand back before she realises it’s missing.”_

With so much happening, two weeks passed by quickly, and before he knew it, they were waking up early on a late summer day and getting ready to leave for Hogwarts.

School was a period of his life he’d thought was long over, and yet he felt a rush of nostalgia while walking down the stairs for breakfast that morning.

When he’d graduated, or dropped out if you wanted to use the technical terms, even though escaped seemed the most accurate, George had thought that leaving school was the beginning of the rest of his life. Only that life had included Fred.

He had a second chance now.

He had come to the conclusion that the reason he was sent back was to make a change for himself. Running off and involving anyone else would cause too much of a disruption to the timeline.

Even if they called him crazy and sent him away without a second thought, his warnings of war and death could leave a cautious thought in the back of their minds. He knew how time travel worked. Or at least the fundamentals of it. Butterfly effects were powerful. He didn’t want to do anything to cause a change he can’t see coming.

He was here to save Fred. That was his ultimate goal. Otherwise, that life he’d dreamed about, that they’d _both_ dreamed about, it would be nothing. Again.

Looking over at Fred, his heart strengthened his resolve. He refused to let this opportunity go to waste.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews would be glorious. Have a nice day Xx


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